I’m moving across the country. I realized it today although I’ve been planning since January. From the Midwest back to Texas. Emotionally I’m not ready so I am in hyper-planning mode; trying to control the uncontrollable. My panic button was pushed over Memorial Day weekend when I looked at my calendar to plan out my remaining weekends before the move and realized there were only 3 left!
I’ve decided that I am going to set up the kids room first and a craft corner second. Then my mind wandered to the necessity for a functional apron. A throw back to the 50’s where pearls and an apron were the necessary accessories. I want an apron. Mind needs to be functional, many pockets, and make them deep. Deep enough to hold random toy parts. A pocket to hold a pen and small notepad. A pocket to collect small, random toys. Another pocket to hold my phone. And another pocket to hide candy (emergency bribes) and Tylenol; inevitably, someone WILL get sick.
If there were anything to delay this project it would be choosing fabric. My functional apron will be a uniform of sorts so the fabric will have to be fitting of my many home making duties while keeping my own personal funky flavor. Amy Butler prints, repurposed vintage fabric, polka dots, stripes, a little bit of Mexican flair…oh, the possibilities are endless! My friend K and I have the same love of vintage linens. So much that we went to a presentation at the local historical society titled, “A Woman’s Work is Never Done”. It was our version of a Star Trek convention. K and I arrived in our skirts, heels, pearls and aprons.
The days before Memorial Day weekend we were in Ohio for a family funeral. Tim’s Grandmother passed away at age 86. While I was there my mother-in-law brought out heirloom aprons, one was her mother’s. My husband’s family is the closest manifestation to the June Cleaver ideal I’ve always fanaticized about becoming. She held the thin-from-years-of-washing feed sack apron in her hands and told me, “if my mother were awake, she'd have this on”. And that’s why I love aprons. Because, for me, it’s a symbol of the home; a uniform for employment I didn’t seek but am so blessed to be called to. I want to be the mother in the apron that my children, and grandchildren, remember.
